“I think we ought to redo your bandage,” I said.
I stood there like I was waiting to take her order. She didn’t move. She was in exactly the same position she’d been in a while before-it’s possible that her knees were a little closer to her chest, or that a lock of hair had fallen off her shoulder in absolute silence, but I wouldn’t have sworn to it. I squeezed the back of my neck a while before going over for a closer look. It made me look like I was thinking of something. I wasn’t.
She was sleeping. I sat down next to her.
“You awake?” I said.
I leaned over to take her shoes off. They were sort of tennis shoes-ideal for crossing town at a dead run. It made you wonder about the logic of things. Only yesterday, she’d been walking around in stiletto heels, me waiting to catch her at the foot of the stairs. I tossed the little white things off the foot of the bed and unzipped her windbreaker. She was still sleeping.
I went to get some Kleenex to blow my nose. I sucked on a couple of throat lozenges while washing my hands. The night now seemed like a storm over a forest fire. I took some deep breaths and let the water run over my hands for a few minutes. I closed my eyes.
After that I went back to take care of her bandage. I went about it gently, as if I were putting a splint on the foot of a bird. I took the gauze off, millimeter by millimeter, without waking her. I delicately spread her hand out to make sure that the cuts were clean, and put the Mercurochrome on with the little pipette. I rebandaged it-just tight enough-and cleaned the blood out from under her nails. I got as much of it out as I could. I knew I was going to fall in love with her little scars. I could feel it.
I downed a big glass of hot rum in the kitchen. It made me sweat, but I knew I had to medicate myself in one way or another. I picked up the pieces of glass from the window, then went back to her. I smoked a cigarette. I wondered if I hadn’t chosen the hardest path-if living with a woman wasn’t perhaps the most terrible thing a man can do-if it wasn’t like his selling his soul to the devil or growing a third eye. I remained plunged in the abyss of perplexity, until Betty started moving. She was rolling around gently in her sleep. A breath of fresh air crossed my soul, banishing my dark thoughts like mouthwash on bad breath.
You should get her into bed, I told myself, she must be uncomfortable like that. I picked a magazine up off the floor and thumbed through it distractedly. My horoscope told me that I would have a difficult week at the office, though the time was right to ask for a raise. I’d noticed already how the world was starting to shrink. Nothing much surprised me anymore. I got up to eat an orange-brilliant as lightning and chock-full of vitamin C then went back to her, faster than a speeding bullet.
I put on my magic fingers to undress her. It was like a huge game of pick-up sticks-breathe wrong and you lose. I had a hell of a time with her sweater, trying to get her head through the neck opening. She started twitching her eyelashes when I did. I felt the perspiration pearl up on my forehead-I just made it by a hair. After that, I decided not to worry about taking off her T-shirt or her bra. I wasn’t going to fret over a couple of straps-I just unbuckled it.
The pants were less of a problem, and the socks came off by themselves. Her panties were child’s play-I passed them under my nose before letting them fall-O dark flower… O little striped thing whose trembling petals close in a man’s hand… I held you to my cheek for but a second in the wee hours of the morning. After such a sensation I no longer wanted to die. I went and got the bottle of rum to treat my bronchial pneumonia.
I sat on the floor, my back against the bed. I took a swig for my leg, which was hurting me, and one for her hand. And one for the night that was finally ending. And one for the whole world. I tried not to forget anyone. I noticed that if I leaned my head back, my skull touched Betty’s thigh. I stayed in that position for a moment, my eyes wide open, my body floating in the intergalactic desert like a guillotined doll.
When I felt fit for action, I lifted her up in my arms. I held her fairly high-high enough so all I had to do was bow my head to furrow my face against her belly. Slowly the heat from her body made me glow. I decided to stand as long as I could. My arms were as stiff as monkey wrenches, but it was the best thing I could find as far as resting my soul was concerned. So I hung tough, bending my nose on her soft skin, growling softly. The rum made my skin sweat, emptying out all the poison in me. I didn’t ask any questions.
After a while, she opened one of her eyes a little. I must have been trembling like a leaf. My arms were about to break.
“Hey… hey, what are you doing…?”
“I’m about to put you to bed,” I whispered.
She went right back to sleep. I set her down on the bed and pulled the covers over her. I started walking around the house. I was sorry I’d eaten the orange. I was tired, but I knew I wasn’t going to get to sleep. I went and took a shower. By accident I sprayed some cold water on my knee. My heart started pounding inside my chest.
I wound up in the kitchen. I devoured a ham sandwich, standing by the window. I looked at the lights from the other houses the reflections spilling into the shadows like underwater lights. I chugged a beer down in one gulp. The Mercedes was parked just below. I opened the window and dropped my empty beer can on its head. The noise didn’t bother me at all. I closed the window. In the end it was sort of the car’s fault that the shit had hit the fan like it did. It was at that moment, in fact, that I stopped going to the window every morning to see if it was still there.
17
The day I took matters into my own hands was the day we sold our first piano. It started early in the morning, with a meticulous cleaning of the showroom window, scratching off every last spot with my fingernail, balancing high atop my stepladder. Betty teased me from the sidewalk, drinking her coffee, her cup a deep crater, silver- plated and steaming. You’ll see, I told her, you’ll be taking it all back soon.
I made a quick trip to Bob’s store-Bob was the albino grocery man. Actually I’m exaggerating-he wasn’t really albino, but blond like I’d never seen. There were two or three women in there, standing in front of the shelves, contemplating the void. Bob piled eggs behind the register.
“Hey, Bob, you got a minute?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“Bob, could you give me a little of that white stuff-you know, the stuff you wrote ‘All Creamed Cheese Must Go’ on your window there with?”
I went back with a little container and a paintbrush. I climbed up my ladder. Across the whole width of the window on top I wrote “PIANO PRICE SLASH!!” I stepped back to see what it looked like. It was a beautiful morning. The store looked like a glint of sunlight on a burbling stream. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that a few passersby were slowing down on the sidewalk to get a better look. Rule number ONE of sales: let them know you’re there. Rule number TWO: shout it loud and clear.
I went up to the window. Under it I wrote “NEVER BEFORE OFFERED!!!” Betty seemed to get off on that one. From time to time she’d laugh at anything. She put in her two cents, writing “MUCHO BIG DEALOS” across the door.
“Go ahead and laugh,” I said.
I spent the whole morning in the store with a can of spray wax and a cloth, polishing each piano down to its toenails-I might as well have given them all a bath.
By the time Betty called me for lunch, I was done. I took a circular glance around the store-each and every one of them gleamed in the lights. I knew I had a great team. I went halfway up the stairs, then came back down. I held my hand out to all of the pianos.
“I’m counting on you, fellas,” I said. “Don’t let that girl have the last laugh.”
I tried to maintain an enigmatic smile while ingesting the squid croquettes in hot sauce. Girls go crazy for that.
“Listen, that would really be too unbelievable,” she said. “Why today, especially…?”
“Why? Because I’ve set my mind to it, that’s why.”
